


You Flew Pretty Good

by operationhades



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural
Genre: Community: spn_in_space, Crossover, Gen, Puddlejumpers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-02
Packaged: 2017-11-03 00:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/operationhades/pseuds/operationhades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gabriel has the perfect idea to put the apocalypse on full stop. Really, it's absolutely brilliant. And with a click of his fingers, the idea is set to roll. And no, he won't take Dean and Sam's ungratefulness to heart – he's used to it by now. AKA that time Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean and Sam ended up in different puddlejumpers far away in a galaxy unknown. Being shot at. By the Wraith. (Plus, for some unknown, innate, reason - everyone mentally insults Dean.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Flew Pretty Good

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, don't mind me, I'm just a newbie trying to get in with the big shots. Just ignore my fumbling with livejournal/AO3, my not-first and or second-language English, and bad,  _bad_ , humour. This, is written for [](http://spn-in-space.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://spn-in-space.livejournal.com/)**spn_in_space**. That is all.

"I'm not going to stay here until Lucifer comes!" Gabriel hissed, staring wide eyed at the Winchester's. “He'll tear me apart, he'll tear me a _new one_ , he'll- he'll- he'll- _father_ , the _things_ he'll _do_ to me, are you idiots forgetting _he's the devil_? There's a reason why _he's the devil_.”

The older Winchester bristled at him like a cat with it's fur ruffled. “This is _your_ family, Gabriel.” He said, voice grating on the Archangel's nerves with it's self imposed righteousness. “This is _your_ responsibility! Deal with it! He's _your_ brother!”

"Exactly!" Why the hell couldn't they _understand_? “He's my _older brother_ , he's the one that taught me everything I _know_! So if you came out of Hell all demonic and everything, do you think you'd be stupid enough to get ganked by your little brother?”

The wince that accompanied his words didn't bother him at all – hello, trickster? – but the way the idiots completely pushed that aside and flung it out the proverbial window without even bothering to try and understand it was _irritating_. Mister Righteous Man (and seriously, was this a joke? The guy was a slob with a raging libido and little brain cells) flung his arms in the air, and apparently that rolled the ball into Earnest Puppy Dog Eyed Sammy's court. The full effect of those large dark eyes was intimidating – but Gabriel had _seen_ the kid at his lowest (i.e. those six months he'd killed off Dean), he knew the younger Winchester was a little devil himself, the perfect host for Lucifer, so the effect was heavily dampened.

"Gabriel,” The younger Winchester tried anyway. “Thousands of people will get hurt if Lucifer gets away with this, if the apocalypse actually happens. All those innocent people. _Millions_.”

Gabriel scoffed, unrepentant. Damn apes procreated like rabbits anyway.

"Yeah well what the hell will _you_ be doing when the Earth is empty and screwed?” Dean gritted out, glaring death at him. “Nobody for you to be all trickster on – meaning no more slow dancing aliens – nobody for you to even bother getting Smite McSmitey on – hell, no one to freaking make _candies_. So what the hell will you get out of it? You think they'll let you swagger back in Heaven after the big fight?”

... Damn, kid had a point.

Faced with this new conundrum, Gabriel held a finger up before either of the brothers could continue, feeling a small bit of childish amusement when they tried talking anyway and found their voice boxes completely locked. Tapping his chin with said finger, he hummed thoughtfully, eyeing the red walls of the room they were in in the hotel housing a whole gathering of gods and goddesses.

Now that he thought about it, yeah, Michael (and definitely Raphael) wouldn't quite just let him walk back in, but he could easily swing some crap and play them into letting him in, so that was a mute point. Heaven was boring, though – it's why he'd never bothered keeping track of it after finally getting out – and he couldn't stomach the idea of spending the rest of eternity up there until the humans finally got themselves back up to the point they were in now. Knowing how apocalypse's went, three quarters of the world would be inhabitable, it'd take a few hundred centuries or so for them to be liveable again, and even longer for the humans to find a way to populate said places. Then give it a few more boring as hell centuries until they finally popped out enough babies, and only then would they even attempt to build up on technology and culture and everything else.

Dear Hades in the Underworld, it would take _ages_ until they finally made candy.

Damn, even worse, sure, he could swindle his way back into Heaven – it wouldn't be too hard, Raphael was _his_ little brother and a pussy, and Michael was all about the wrongful crawling back home repentant and shit – there'd be no way the brother's little rebellious angel would be allowed. Not after being the _very reason_ why the apocalypse wasn't happening already. Did the two idiots even think about that? Did Castiel even think about that? Probably not. Idiots hung around idiots, after all.

Heaving a despondent sigh, Gabriel's shoulders slump as he finally came to a conclusion. The brothers idiot were right, he couldn't just let Lucifer and Michael take their vessels and go-a battling with their fancy swords. Great, freaking great, he had to take part in the family drama all over again – as if the last time wasn't bad enough; he'd never get over the sheer idiocy of his brothers, Lucifer throwing a hissy fit over the creation of humans, Michael acting like a caveman all “Lo, it is so. Stop whining.” and Raphael's whiny ass voice in the background going on and on and on about _father knew what_.

But no way in creation was he hanging around for Lucifer to come.

"Alright knuckle heads, I'll help. I was gonna help _anyway_ ,” Gabriel pressed quickly at the look of relief on the Winchester's faces. “But I'm sticking to my first plan, aka no way in hell am I sticking 'round for Lucy to come-a calling.”

Before Dean could open his big mouth (read: luscious big mouth, Gabe wasn't exactly blind, y'know), what the older of the humans said suddenly made a comeback to his brain.

No more slow dancing aliens.

For a minute, he grinned fondly at the memory, remembering how simple everything had been back then, how frisky Kali was – hell, even how he'd been looking forward to grabbing a few drinks with Thor after the big lug came back from Egypt – but then the full context of it morphed into something else. An idea.

Holy mother of Hades, an _idea_.

And it was a great idea.

It was a _great idea_.

Lips spreading into a large grin, he stared appraisingly at each brother's chests, at the Enochian sigils Castiel had carved into their ribs. It was beautiful work, great control not seen much around most of the other brothers and sisters the two had, and in any other life, Gabe would've been so impressed he'd have taken Castiel under his wings and trained him up into a Cherubim, at the very least. But that was besides the point. Grin turning more sharp, he realised the sheer incredibleness of his plan.

All he had to do was hide the vessels. Indefinitely. At least, until Lucifer and Michael got bored like fuck and returned to whence they freaking came from. And thanks to Castiel's carving, the boys would be under the radar _anyway_ , all he had to do was hide them so Lucy couldn't go peeping like an old Tom into Sammy-boy's dreams. And there was only so far an angel's radar could get to enter someone's dreams. Even less for a fallen angel like Lucy. So all he had to do was thrust the gigantic human very, _very_ , far away. And then Dean too just to make sure Lucifer didn't go bat shit ape and decide to rip his brothers vessel apart – that, and to make sure Sam didn't do something too freaking stupid like he seemed to always do without Dean around.

Yeah. That made perfect sense. And Gabe knew just the place that was as far away as possible to keep them both out of the woods. About damn time he called up on the little dude for his favour, anyway.

The boys were starting to wise up, Dean was starting to clue in – boy might be stupid, but he had damn good tastes and a mean streak of common sense – and Sam was reading the atmosphere and Dean's growing panic.

"Boys,” The Archangel drawled with glee. “I have just the idea.”

Then Gabriel, flashing far too much teeth, did something both Winchester's cringed at.

He snapped his fingers.

. . .

  
John Sheppard was on the verge of passing out, he really was, because of the blood pooling around him from the wound on his left shoulder and the unbearable pain it took to stay focused to navigate his Jumper. A lance of pain shot up his arm as he urged the ship to move left, just in time to barely dodge a shot but not wide enough to instil any sense of confidence. The ship was barely holding it together – at best – moving shakily like a newborn colt because of his damn lack of focus and how everything was fading in and out, but he couldn't just sleep, no matter how badly he wanted too, because otherwise he'd be as good as dead, shot away to explode soundlessly in outer space, where nobody would even be able to retrieve his body to give him an actual burial.

Morbid thoughts aside, John needed to either toughen up and _deal with this_ , or a miracle.

The Jumper shook as a shot blind sided him from the back, jarring him hard enough that he barely kept from crying out in pain by biting his tongue. It did, however, throw him backwards, away from the navigation panel, smacking him up against the far wall. The ship began spiralling out of control without it's pilot, he could see statistics and a ton load of other numbers that made no sense to his dazed self flash up on his holographic HUD, but more pressingly, he could see a Wraith Dart ship heading right towards him, could hear someone screaming through the MIC to _dodge, dodge, dodge_!

That's when the miracle happened. Or, truthfully, that's when things just took a turn for the worse and John figured he'd either passed out and was dreaming this up, or was dead and his Heaven was apparently dreaming this up.

The guy appeared out of nowhere, popping into existence right in front of John like he was coming to visit for tea and jolly good morning, chum anddear _lord_ John was suffering from a concussion now too, which was just great. He belatedly took note of the rumpled clothes, the worn jeans, the heavy looking boots, the broad shoulders and short buzz hair. Immediately though, he took note of the Jumper's insides lighting up like a Christmas tree – and he certainly wasn't doing that, nosiree, John was on the verge of passing out and could barely think _on_ , so that meant the guy in front of him had the ATA gene, meaning he could pilot the ship, meaning he could try and save both their asses before that Wraith ship decided to finally _shoot_ and blow them to smithereens.

Quiet smithereens. Space apparently liked its quiet.

But the guy was panicking, dear god the guy was _panicking_ , going on about some _Sammy_ , and _what the hell is this_ , and _Oh my God this is worst then planes,_ and _Gabriel, when I get my hands on you---_

"Dude, shit, you're bleeding. What the _hell_ , put some pressure on that.”

Oh, so the guy was speaking to him now, great, that was good, because of course it didn't matter that the Jumper was barely holding it together and none of them were at the navigation panel _driving_ the damn thing and they were going to die in five minutes top. Go ahead, let's hold a damn conversation, in fact, how about some biscuits to go with that, Pennyworth?

The Jumper began quaking once more, signalling another hit to its hull, and John's HUD was telling him another shot like that would have them exploding so prettily. To his surprise, the guy kept his footing, showing he didn't just _look_ fit but that he apparently was, and started panicking anew. But rather then rant about some people only he knew, he made it very clear he was in a spaceship. In space. With another spaceship shooting at him. And that the pilot for the spaceship was apparently bleeding out and unable to _drive the ship_. As if John didn't already know, hell, John _was_ the pilot bleeding out and unable to drive the damn ship!

But that was here nor there, John just got an idea. Obviously, he can't pilot (you don't _drive_ planes, you _pilot_ them) the Jumper, obviously the Jumper needs an ATA gene to _be_ piloted (or at least, it needed the gene to be piloted with any sense of actual skill), and obviously the guy in front of him now quietly freaking out and hyperventilating had the ATA gene – and apparently in spades by the freaking light show going on in here – so why not have _him_ drive them to relative safety?

That was a great idea. Where John came up with such an idea while concussed to his eyeballs and suffering from major blood loss was beyond him. Maybe _that_ was the miracle.

Or maybe he was in Hell.

Both were completely plausible, Rodney would have some scientific sounding statistic and thesis and hypothesis and statistic to back it up and come up with the most likely one, but if John didn't get himself to safety he'd never hear it and right now he'd _pay_ with all of his chocolate stash to even hear the scientist's non-stop insults to everybody around him and their intelligence.

"The panel.” He croaked out finally, mustering whatever little energy he had to point at it with his right hand. “Go to the panel.”

The guy paused in his breathing exercise ( _deep breaths, breath in, breath out, don't think about being in hyperspace in a star wars rendition of the battle against the Sith – oh god, just breath in, dude, breath out--_ ) and stared at John incredulously before turning to the panel, then turned back to stare at John incredulously again. “And?”

The hell do you mean _and_? John thought angrily. “ _Use it_.” He hissed out, anger giving him more energy to wave at the damn place. “Use it and freaking get us out of here!”

The bark of laughter was biting and completely not pleasant. “No way dude,” the guy said, shaking his head back and forth wildly. “I can't pilot this shit, it's a freaking _spaceship_.”

Great, give the boy a Blue Peter Badge, absolutely wonderful. “If you don't _pilot us out of here_ , we will _die_. _Silently_.” He bit out in reply, glaring at the man scathingly. “ _Silently._ ”

The guy flailed his hands in panic, head whipping back and forth between the panel and John, then shook his head again but in desperation. “I don't know _how_ to pilot this thing!”

John studied him for a split second before coming to the easiest conclusion he could think of. “You drive?”

The guy blanched, but nodded.

“It's like driving, except a lot more mental then anything else. Go to the damn panel, put your hand on the glowey bit, and _think_ the ship to do what you want. Don't bark orders at her, just gentle ease her into going left and right and whatever.”

Blondie (and John could see it now, the short buzz hair looked like a horrific mixture between blonde and brown) stared incredulously at him – probably for his use of the female gender rather then the whole _mind-drive this thing_ – but showed he had _some_ brain cells by going to the navigation panel and hesitantly placing his hand on it. Immediately, the Jumper _shook_ , going haywire and struggling to go in one direction, and John screamed _“one direction! Think of one direction!”_ at the guy before he heeded his words and finally levelled the ship out into simply zooming forwards.

They zipped past some enemy ships and friendlies at a moderate pace, not really fast at all but not slow enough to get hit, and the guy craned his neck backwards and stared at John wordlessly with wide eyes for directions. John nodded at him in a vain hope of trying to be reassuring – hell, he didn't know what the hell was going on, was he hallucinating? He hoped he was – and told him to ease her to the left and back around to face where they came from.

The scrunched up expression of concentration would've been absolutely hilarious if John was in tip top condition – really, it would have – but the Jumper refused to move, refused to acknowledge whatever message the guy was giving her and simply continued going forwards. The wide eyed look of fear shot at him afterwards was message enough, but before John could say anything, a new communication link opened up on his HUD from another puddlejumper, heralding the voice of some guy screaming _Dean!_

Somewhere along the panic, John's Jumper must have activated the speaker phone, because the name reverberated around the whole ship rather then just vibrating painfully between John's ears. Turned out Blondie was actually called _Dean_ , and the guy was stupid enough to yank his hand off the navigation panel and stare around widely at the ship going _Sammy? Sam? Is that you? Where are you!?_

_"Dean!_ ” The voice said again, and what the hell was this strange voice doing on Roberts' ship? “ _Dean! Are you OK? What's going on? Are you hurt?_ ”

"I'm in a freaking goddamn ship being shot at by _other ships_ in _space_ , Sam! And the pilot's freaking _hurt_!”

A curse, actually two curses, John recognised William Robert's voice in the background taking over. “ _Lieutenant Colonel! Are you injured? Who's piloting your jumper?_ ”

"Impaled myself on some crap the techs left behind, Captain. I'm trying to get this guy to pilot it, he's got the ATA gene, but it's not working out so well.”

Robert gave a rather colourful curse, but the comm was passed over to the other man – Sammy.

_"Dean, he's injured, you're not. You need to pilot it!_ ”

The named Dean didn't look convinced and adamantly shook his head wildly as his friend continued.

_"Think of it like the Impala! Except with no steering wheel, just imagine we're kids and you're pretending to be a space pirate or something – we need to take down the ships that look different then us before we can go anywhere safe._ ”

An Impala? So this Sammy and Dean were at the very least childhood friends, if not related. Huh, that was good to know, if nothing else, it would help a little when he did everything he could to court marshal the idiot as soon as they got back on Atlantis.

"But Saaaaaammmm,” the guy whined, bouncing from one foot to the other like he needed the toilet. Badly.

_"You have too, Dean. Otherwise they'll shoot us out of the hemisphere and then we'll end up back in Heaven and the angels will just resurrect us._ ”

Whatever the hell _that_ meant seemed to break through to Blondie. The guy scowled heavily up at the ceiling as if Sam was speaking from there, then stalked to the navigation panel and jabbed his hands onto the glowing surface. Rather then lose further control of the ship, the Jumper came to a soothing stop, almost as if professionally piloted, and the lights around dimmed somewhat into a more controlled environment. Without preamble, Dean steered the Jumper around to face back at the ensuing chaos of them VS the Wraith, his shoulders moving slightly as if physically willing the Jumper to follow his bidding, and with two deep breaths and a muttered god knew what, the ship suddenly _gunned_ it forward towards the attacking ships.

"How do you shoot?” Dean asked him.

Realising his mouth was open and he was gaping as the Jumper ate up the distance between itself and the action, John shut it with a click and replayed the question in his head. “Just- Just think it. Go on, think.”

One nod was his answer, and John started wondering whether the guy was military trained or not with how focused he looked – just moments before he was _panicking_ for god's sake, and John only knew military men to switch off their emotions like that when the situation called for it. As soon as they were in range, two shots escaped the puddlejumper, looking for all the world like they were just test shots with how wide they went, but John realised almost immediately they were perfect.

As in, really perfect.

Really, _really_ , perfect.

_"Holy shit, Colonel! Great shot!_ ”

Yeah, Robert. Because he was the one doing the shooting.

Dean grinned at that, eyes twinkling slightly as he shifted to stand into a more comfortable position, completely bypassing the chair. Two enemy ships exploded from the shots, leaving only a few more that were easily picked out by the rest of the puddlejumpers deployed from Atlantis. Without even wasting a blink, the battlefield was soon cleared, leaving only them alive, thankfully with no loses, and the other Jumpers began turning towards home. Dean's eyes darted around thoughtfully, before turning to look at John, deferring to his more experienced knowledge with a grace John hadn't thought the other adult had.

Slowly, John nodded, and Dean began steering the Jumper to glide along with the other ships.

"You flew pretty good,” the lieutenant colonel was surprised to hear himself say. “For a guy with aerophobia.”

Dean just answered that with an embarrassed look, scratching at the hair on his nape. “Yeah, uh, about that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention it. At all.” A pause, then a knowing grin was shot at him. “And I won't mention your concussion-induced ramblings. Seriously dude, Pennyworth? Didn't take you for a Batman fan.”

Yeah whatever, John thought snidely, relief flooding through him as the ocean heralded Atlantis coming into view, least I'm not afraid of _flying_.


	2. You Flew Pretty Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Gabriel has the perfect idea to put the apocalypse on full stop. Really, it's absolutely brilliant. And with a click of his fingers, the idea is set to roll. And no, he won't take Dean and Sam's ungratefulness to heart – he's used to it by now. AKA that time Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean and Sam ended up in different puddlejumpers far away in a galaxy unknown. Being shot at. By the Wraith. (Plus, for some unknown, innate, reason - everyone mentally insults Dean.)

The last thing Doctor Elizabeth Weir expected when Jumper 1 finally docked was to have an unidentified man wearing casual clothes rarely seen in Atlantis come running out and collapse stomach first onto the floor. Then John came lagging behind, laughing his head off, clutching at his left shoulder where his uniform was stained a dark red, looking for all the world as if despite the pain laughing induced, he couldn't stop himself.   
  
Shocked, Elizabeth stared as Jumper 8 opened up, where another man wearing equally casual clothes came striding out on mile long legs, heading straight for the collapsed man and crouching next to him when he finally reached the other, patting him somewhat solemnly on the back. Captain Robert came out afterwards from the same Jumper, looking bewildered but amused, which only confused her even more, though she was thankful none of the other Jumpers opened up to show any other new faces.   
  
Beckett was already rushing towards Sheppard, accent strong and heavy as he took one look at the wound and started ranting his lungs out, dragging the man away towards the infirmary, which really just left Robert for her to question on  _who_ the two strange men were. With one hand movement, she had armed marines following her, hands on their weapons, so she strode towards the congregation of two unknowns and Robert, standing next to the Captain and looking down at the seated strangers. The one collapsed was white as a sheet from what she could see, hands groping at the ground underneath while his companion looked sympathetic, eyes wide and dark as they glanced up at Elizabeth. She didn't miss the way they glided over the marines behind her, taking stock of them for a moment before turning back to his friend, nor the way he still kept them in his view.   
  
"Captain, who are these two men?” She said, cutting straight to the point.   
  
Robert grinned apologetically at her, and pointed at the two men in turns. “Ma'am, these are Sam and Dean Singer. Brothers. They popped in on mine and Lieutenant Colonel's Jumpers from Earth. Neither have a clue why they're here.”   
  
She gave a hard look to the Captain. “What was the last thing they were doing on Earth?”   
  
"In a hotel meeting with friends.” He answered promptly.   
  
Elizabeth nodded, happy to see Robert had interrogated them before bringing unknowns to Atlantis. She waved a hand at the collapsed man. “And him? What's wrong with him? Should I call infirmary?”   
  
To her surprise, Robert's face transformed into a wide grin. “No ma'am. Believe it or not, but Dean  _really_ hates flying. Didn't take to well to finding himself in a  _spaceship_ .”   
  
Oh.  _Oh._ Elizabeth winced at the information, suddenly understanding why the man named Dean looked on the verge of a panic attack. Also why his friend – brother – looked sympathetic. But---   
  
"Then who flew Jumper 1?” The man named Dean groaned pitifully from the floor. Robert pointed at him. Elizabeth stared incredulously down at the man. “You?” She said slowly, addressing him. “You flew?”   
  
Everything that could mean raced through her head as Robert and the other man – Sam, she thought, Sam Singer – nodded, and if the idea of someone possibly with the ATA gene having such an apparent fear of flying wasn't mind boggling, Elizabeth didn't know _what_ was. She'd been spending too much time with Sheppard if she thought all ATA users would be obsessed with flying. Shaking her head in wonder, she perused Sam, who looked up at her as if feeling her stare. “And him?” She asked Roberts.   
  
The Captain nodded. “Yes ma'am.”   
  
So in the end, she had a Sam and Dean Singer, brothers, on Atlantis without the slightest clue  _of_ Atlantis and the ATA gene. Elizabeth sighed, fingers on her temple, wondering when she'd ever have a 'normal' day. “Fine,” she said slowly, thinking things through as she spoke, seeing Ronon enter the room out the corner of her eye. “Wheeler, Gates, take these two men to the infirmary. I want Beckett to personally make sure they don't have anything that'll spread here.”   
  
One of the brothers, Sam, unfolded his legs and stood up, and Elizabeth couldn't help but crane her neck upwards as the man just _continued_ to stand up until he finally reached his full height. What she'd known to be a tall man turned out to  _really_ be a tall man, if she was right, Sam was maybe only an inch or so shorter then  _Ronon_ , and that was no joke. And he wasn't lanky, at all, nor was he awkward in his body. Elizabeth could see the man had full control of his limbs, broad shoulders, and had some muscles packed underneath the many layers of clothing he wore. But he still hunched in on himself, giving a fake allusion that he wasn't as gigantic as he seemed, and bent down to hook his hands underneath his brother's arms, hauling him upwards in one fluid motion.   
  
The brother didn't seem to be too pleased to be vertigo if his swaying was anything to go by, but with a hand on Sam he seemed to stay upright. A single look showed he was an equally tall man, more broader then his brother but shorter by a few inches, and if she was right, he looked... Older? It must've been grating to watch your little sibling shoot up past you.   
  
Sam spoke to his brother quietly, murmuring words she couldn't quite hear, but as she stepped aside to let Wheeler and Gates take them to the infirmary she saw Dean scowl murderously at them but acquiesce after a particular jab from the taller. As they ambled past her with the two marines on either side, she nodded once at the questioning look from Ronon, watching as he fell into step behind the group and followed them out.   
  
"Captain, come with me to my office.” Elizabeth said, staring after them. “I want a full report on what happened.”

. . .

  
  
"Sam, we don't have time for this!” Dean hissed quietly, staring outright at everything they passed. “The Gods are going to die – which would be a load of our weight, but whatever – Gabriel is probably kicking it up in Hawaii right now, and oh, have you forgotten, Cas is still missing!”  
  
Scowling, Sam replied with a Look. “Yeah and Adam's being used by the angels, we still don't know how to deal with Lucifer and oh, the  _apocalypse_? Dean, I'm not stupid, but we're kinda on  _Atlantis_  right now. You know, the lost city?”  
  
The two soldiers leading them looked at each other warily, shifting uneasily as they walked on, most likely unnerved by the snatches of their conversation they overheard. Sam paid them no heed, along with the really strange dude in dreadlocks stalking behind them like a caged tiger just  _waiting_ for them to mess up. Dean huffed at him, rolling his eyes and looking heavenwards as if _they_ could help.  
  
 “You think I don't know? Damn city's practically humping my brain, dude.”  
  
"What?"  
  
Coming to a halting stop – damn the soldiers – Sam gaped at Dean, eyeing his brother carefully to see if anything was amiss. Other then looking a bit green around the gills from the impromptu flying lesson, Dean still looked... Dean. Maybe he banged his head somewhere and got a concussion? Maybe the guy Dean was in the ship with was high and Dean inhaled some of it? Maybe there was just something in the air here in Atlantis that didn't agree with him too much? Or maybe this actually wasn't Dean and was some sort of seriously messed up alien with freaky technology and soon the slow dancing would start and the probes and he'd be probed again and again and again and again and again and again and again until he was a jerky, shuddering, mess drinking Purple Nurples in a bar near a school campus.  
  
That's when he felt it, a jab at the back of his mind that filled him with insulted disapproval. It reminded him of Missouri, the way she'd swat at you whenever you said (or thought) something she didn't approve off, and Sam gaped up at the ceiling in turn as it suddenly hit him like a sleight hammer  _just_ what it was he was feeling.  
  
Dean was smirking smugly at him – jerk must have noticed Sam's sudden revelation – and jerked a finger at the wall behind him. “We just faced aliens, Sammy, don't tell me a sentient city is going to throw you off the loop.”  
  
Holy shit. A sentient city.  
  
Shaking his head in disbelief, Sam opened his mouth and tried saying something, only succeeding in sputtering out things that made no sense. Dean shared a look with one of the uniformed soldiers, shrugging his shoulders as if to say  _'what can you do_ ' and grinning. Now he understood why the soldiers seemed off, they weren't wary or suspicious about their conversation, but confused as the doors opened up before any of them even reached it, lights turning on as they walked by – it was just like how things had been in the Jumper, the way everything had lit up and started flashing brightly as if it was  _really_ happy to see him until Robert had screamed at him to think  _off_ , whatever that meant. Did that mean it had to do with this gene they'd mentioned? Why did Dean and he have this gene? Maybe it was part of whatever crazy Gabriel had planned and thrown them in now.  
  
Maybe this was a TV show, just like that time he'd trapped them in TV land and kept them in their all the way till Castiel had busted them out – only for it to end with the trickster Loki turning out to be the Archangel  _Gabriel_.  
  
"Uuh... Okay.” Sam finally said dumbly, indicating for Wheeler and Gates to lead the way. Dean bumped into his shoulder as they started walking again and the contact helped to ground him somewhat back into the reality they were in. Sam could deal with it, at least the city seemed to like him (not enough to be  _humping his brain_ as Dean so crudely put it, but whatever), and being the holder of some strange gene that let him use alien technology (at least, he hoped it was, the thought of humans controlling this crap was frightening) wasn't as crazy as being the host of the devil himself. At least Dean had it too. Sam would've just felt cursed if he was alone on this.  
  
As it was, Dean looked like he was doing a lot better then before, he was even humming something that sounded like Led Zeppelin as they finally entered what was obviously the infirmary. A doctor was bustling around, attending to the guy Sam recognised to be the one Dean had been with inside their Jumper, putting the final touches on the bandages completely encompassing his left shoulder. For a lieutenant colonel, the guy was pretty young, probably in his late thirties nearing forties more then anything else. His face brightened up at the sight of them, which was really weird to Sam, but it turned out the guy was just happy to see the man with dreadlocks rather then  _them_. Which just made him feel a whole lot of relief, because otherwise things would have been really, really, awkward.  
  
Things around the infirmary started lighting up, Atlantis humming at the back of his conscience, and seriously, how messed up was that? The doctor immediately rounded on them, probably saw Sam's bewildered expression and Dean's far too gleeful look, and jabbed the latter brother in the chest with a pen.  
  
"Think  _off_ , damn you.”  
  
And yeah, Sam would be the first to admit he found it hilarious how a man way shorter then either of them intimidated Dean to do just that. Not that he knew what thinking off entailed, but whatever.  
  
"Good. My name is Dr. Carson Beckett, gentlemen, and I've been told I'm to personally make sure you're both in perfect conditions and not carrying about any infections that could kill us all.” The doctor said, introducing himself with something Sam recognised as a easily identifiable Scottish accent. Huh, everyone Sam had seen so far pretty much spoke an American accent, so the thought that this  _space thing_ might be an American based operation had flitted through his mind – could still be actually, but it was nice to see some variety around anyway.  
  
"Come on, let's see what your health is like.”  
  
The next few minutes was filled with thousands upon thousands of inane questions – on things they ate, the last time they were sick, general health, fitness, ability to do exercise, and other such things – to the point Sam almost zoned out. Of course they skirted over the serious stuff, Sam claimed to have been a really troubled youth to explain away all the scars and breaks on his body, and Dean commiserated it with stories of all the clumsy, idiotic, stupid things Sam did, much to his annoyance. He never did quite get to zone out though, because the lieutenant colonel speaking up after they all fell into a lull of silence grabbed his attention, but the words were directed at Dean rather then him.  
  
"So, Dean Singer, right?” The man said, giving a somewhat lopsided grin at them.  
  
Dean nodded without pause, far too used to being called on a name that wasn't really his own. Singer was the first surname Sam had thought off after realising they couldn't use Winchester – hell, they could never use Winchester now, not after St. Louis and Henrickson and everything that'd happen, especially since they were written off as dead in the FBI cases – but Sam didn't mind it too much, Bobby was too much of a father to them  _to_ mind.  
  
"Since you'll be sticking around till at least the next gate call, how about hanging out with us over at the Jumpers?”  
  
Sam snorted as Dean stared blankly at the colonel. The older Winchester didn't look impressed at the offer.  
  
"I don't do well with flying.” Dean answered back bluntly.  
  
The higher rank – Sam dimly remembered the doctor calling him Sheppard – grinned at that, seeming to find some amusement in it. “I know, kid. Hard not too with you freaking out on me the moment you realised you were on a ship.”  
  
Looking disgusted, almost wounded as if betrayed by that, Dean said, “Says the guy  _bleeding out_ and making Batman jokes with a goddamn British accent. Seriously dude, Blue Peter Badge? The hell is that?”  
  
Sam turned to look at Dean, seeking confirmation, and Dean nodded at him with raised eyebrows ( _“dude, I'm not joking. Seriously, he was completely speaking British, like a freaking butler.”_ ) which made Sam raise an eyebrow at Sheppard, who looked sheepish and was ignoring the looks coming from the man with the dreadlocks and the doctor.  
  
Dr. Beckett paused as he wrote down something else on his clipboard, eyes on Sheppard with surprised suspicion. “I didn't take you to watch British children's shows, Sheppard...” The doctor said slowly, looking like he didn't quite know what to think of it. “Though... The Blue Peter show was very entertaining.”  
  
The man confirmed to be Sheppard coughed awkwardly. “That's besides the point.” He said hurriedly, completely pushing it aside and turning his attention back to Dean. “Look, the best way to deal with your fear is to face it. You've already piloted a Jumper anyway, how much worse could it get?”  
  
The scowl Dean gave him spoke enough. “Next time, whoever was shooting at you will actually  _aim_ properly. And I'm not exactly brimming to die yet.”  
  
Truthfully, Sam had to concede to that – he'd seen how the enemy had been shooting, almost every shot had gone wide – and neither of them really  _were_ brimming to die so soon, even with knowing Heaven actually existed, all because Heaven was being manned by apocalyptic-driven angels with huge attitude problems. Speaking of which, while Sam would love to know where the hell they were and preferably who the people shooting had been (along with how all these guys had  _gotten_ here and what they were  _doing_ here), there was still the pressing matter of Earth being on the verge of biblical damnation. That, and Gabriel and the fact he'd  _brought_ them here. Sure, he'd said he was  _helping_ them now, but Sam wasn't so inclined to believe him so easily since the angel had a questionable definition of  _help_. They needed to get back to Earth, find a way to put down the devil, save Adam and preferably find Castiel too.  
  
First thing first: get back to Earth.  
  
A shrill of disapproval trilled through his conscience, the door of the infirmary closed shut with a foreboding hiss. Sam stared at it, ignoring Sheppard trying to cajole Dean back into a Jumper, ignorant to the way the doctor and the man with dreadlocks were watching the younger Winchester carefully. Feeling rather stupid, he tried to mentally tell the city why it was so important to get back to Earth. Atlantis sent back a smug feeling that just somehow got across the message  _'exactly, this is why you shouldn't go back'_  and Sam belatedly realised she was referring to the fact him and Dean ultimately losing was a most probable outcome. And if they were talking about safety, then yeah, staying the hell away from the danger zone would be a good move. And the final battle couldn't really happen if the two top dogs didn't have their vessels – sure, Michael had taken Adam, Sam couldn't understand how that worked, but Lucifer for a fact had no one else to turn to  _but_ Sam.  
  
So maybe staying away really was the right idea? No matter how bad at helping Gabriel was, he usually had the right logic behind it, just a completely unnecessary method to his madness that did little to get his point across, and the angel must have probably thought along the same lines Sam was thinking now if he brought them here. Did that mean there'd be no night-time visits from Lucifer? Logically, there shouldn't  _be_ any demons around here, since they were by products of humans going to Hell and coming out as demons; keyword being  _humans_. Is that why Gabriel had brought them here? Angels couldn't find them thanks to the runes Castiel had (painfully) carved on their ribs, demons couldn't find them because they weren't on  _Earth_ any more, meaning Lucifer had no way of getting to him, nobody had any way of getting  _rid_ of Dean, and that meant... That meant... That the apocalypse was on relative standby?  
  
Too many possibilities came of that thought, too many ways for things to go wrong, avenues that needed to be fully explored before being discarded – Sam needed to speak to Dean about it, hash it out with him like they did on every Hunt, eliminating whatever couldn't be right until they finally came to the right monster. But now he wasn't as eager to return to Earth as soon as possible, not when doing so could destroy whatever  _good_ plan Gabriel might have actually had, not until he knew for certain it would be the right thing to do.  
  
Bolstered by actually having a game plan (also known as figuring why they were here first, why Gabriel had thought it'd be such a great idea to drop them here, before anything else), Sam tried sending mental reassurances to the city that he'd stay, grinning to himself in pleasure when happiness flowed back to him and the previously locked door opened up smoothly.  
  
Dimly, he wondered if there was a library around here.

. . .

  
  
She'd debriefed Robert. She'd debriefed Sheppard. And General O'Neill was waiting on her computer screen for the emergency communication he'd initiated. She hadn't expected the last, the first two she'd had a rough idea of what would happen, and now she knew everything that had taken place in the Jumpers. She had theories, ideas of how the two men had suddenly appeared in the Pegasus Galaxy on their ships, but she knew from experience any news coming from General O'Neill would only make things difficult for her.   
  
“Oh come on, Doctor,” O'Neill drawled at her. “Why the long face? Aren't you happy to see me?”   
  
Lips thinning out into a grimace, Elizabeth's fingers tapped restlessly at her armchair. “Every time I see you, General O'Neill, you always bring me bad news.”   
  
The older man waved her off, seeming unscathed by her words. “Nah, this time I bring you interesting news.  _Exciting_ news. Different but not wholly bad but could be bad and I'm not really sure what's going on but that's the usual par for things around here. That kinda news. Although, you know, it could be about the whole Mother Nature apparently wanting America dead, or something.”   
  
Sighing, Elizabeth leaned forward, resigning herself to adding another problem to her ever growing list. “Alright, General. Tell me this news.”   
  
“Well.” O'Neill popped out, playing with the pen in his hand. “There was this freak explosion in Maryland a while back. Some seriously creepy crap that has Bible thumpers screaming 'the day is nigh!' and global warming dudes saying 'see? We told you!', but– ”   
  
"General, besides that.”   
  
The hurt look she got in reply lasted only for a second. “I've been told you have two new strangers among you. Unknowns, without a single clue about the Atlantis project or even the Stargate Program. Right?”   
  
How on earth had he found that out? Alarmed, but much more focused, Elizabeth sat straighter in her chair and eyed Jack carefully. “Right.” She confirmed, knowing O'Neill would carry on.   
  
Just as he expected, he did. “And these two would be a...” The sound of papers ruffling filtered through the connection, but whatever he was looking at was off screen. “A Dean and Sam? Brothers, apparently.”   
  
"That's right... O'Neill, how—"   
  
“Oh don't worry!” He interrupted her, a bright grin on his face. “Imagine my surprise when I'm just sleeping, right? And all of a sudden I'm in a room with an Asgard I thought was  _dead_ . We chat, me and Thor, and he tells me two guys will be dropping in on Atlantis soon, to” his voice dropped low in an obvious imitation “ _Use them wisely_ ,” then returned to normal, “or some crap like that.” A shrug, his pen went sideways as he rolled it in between his thumb and index finger, swaying left and right, left and right, left and right. “Told me their names and that they'd know nothing. Told me they were relatively  _harmless_ , and then – get this – he said ' _as I've been assured_ '.”   
  
Elizabeth frowned, questions already forming in her head as the latest development came to light. “What does that mean...?” She asked slowly. “Who  _assured_ him of this?”   
  
O'Neill huffed at her, sweeping a hand outwards as if to say  _'see? That's what I thought too!'_ . “That's what I asked,” he said, chewing at the end of the pen he'd been playing with. “And he goes ' _Loki'_  - and I'm like, didn't you guys lock him up after making mini-me? And Thor goes ' _yes, but not that Loki but the real Loki who found us all a method of surviving without committing suicide',_ well... Not  _exactly_ like that, but you get the gist. And I was like, what do you mean you found a way to live? And on Earth? What the hell is a crazy mad scientist like Loki doing on Earth? And Thor – seriously, doc, get this – Thor goes ' _He is being Loki.'_ Like how cryptic is that, right?”   
  
Elizabeth blinked, seeing O'Neill wait for her to answer his question. “Um, yes. Right.”   
  
“Exactly!” The General said, throwing his hands up in the air. “And before he can answer my question, he disappears, and I wake up, and – thinking it was all just a really weird dream induced by copious amounts of paperwork – I figured I'd call you, pretend like I knew for a fact these strangers had popped up out of nowhere. You've just confirmed it. Thanks.”   
  
That was just confusing, too much for Elizabeth to work through. Things had seemed so simple when it was just the case of two strangers appearing in her galaxy – then she could blame it on them maybe touching an ancient artefact back on Earth, activating it with the abundance of ATA gene they apparently had, and beaming themselves out here. But this... Asgards? They'd blown up their own home world to keep their technology safe after giving it to the humans on the battle cruiser  _Odyssey_ . She knew this, she'd been there to  _see_ it – or at least, she'd been around to  _know_ it. Did this mean they were all alive? On Earth? After Loki found them all 'a method of surviving without committing suicide'? And what sort of method was that? Why hadn't they informed  _O'Neill_ at the very least of surviving?   
  
And how did the two new strangers fit into all this?   
  
"I see...” Elizabeth finally said, for lack of anything else to say. “Then what do you propose, General O'Neill? You must have come up with contingency plans in the off chance case your... experience was legit.”   
  
O'Neill shrugged at her, seemingly unbothered by the situation. “Treat them like two guys that got their grubby little hands on an Ancient artefact and subsequently found themselves in Atlantis. Make them sign the non-disclosure forms, as well as the ones that say it ain't our problem if they die. So not our fault they beamed themselves into an galactic hot spot.”   
  
“And... That's it? Pack them off to Earth as soon as possible? General, I don't think you realise the sheer magnitude of this.” She pointed out, not quite arguing yet but close. “They're civilians – civilians that  _will_ see, at the very least, the Stargate and realise numerous governments of different countries have been keeping everything a secret. Not only is it impossible to make sure they don't tell anyone, but what about what Thor said? To  _use them wisely_ ?”   
  
A frown was shot back at her, showing O'Neill didn't appreciate her making things more complicated for him. He always did like things to be as simple as point and shoot, said it kept him calm. “Fine then, use them. Find out what good they are and appoint them into whatever group you have. If nothing else you can make grunts out of them. Or Wraith fodder. Just make sure they sign those damn forms, last thing I need is more paperwork.”   
  
Far too pleased at the prospect of having two more hands to try and lessen the burden on her people, Elizabeth nodded in confirmation. “Of course. Do send my regards to everyone, General.”   
  
“Yeah yeah,” O'Neill waved her off. “I want a report on the two guys after you've grilled them. And a picture. Make that crazy doctor of yours interview them, oh and tape it! That'd be fun.”   
  
Secretly amused at Rodney interviewing  _anyone_ , Elizabeth obligingly nodded with no intention of carrying out that particular 'order'. “We'll see.”   
  
They traded a few more pleasantries for as long as O'Neill could get away with it before someone forced him to turn back to his paperwork. Elizabeth signed off, sighing to herself deeply at the turn this day had taken, but bolstered at having a game plan and apparently two more pair of hands on deck to help around the place. She needed to make sure the two were completely up to date though, give them a chance to back out if they wanted nothing to do with this (she wouldn't blame them, the Wraith weren't exactly something to look forward too), make sure they really did sign those papers either way. She had to find out if they had anything to bring to the plate, anything she could exploit and make things easier in their placement in Atlantis. They already had the ATA gene, so the gene therapy was in order to make sure they didn't destroy half of the equipment in the city by just being close to it – and one of them had already piloted a Jumper, right? Good, they could always use more pilots with the gene on their side.   
  
Mind whirling as she carefully thought through it all, Elizabeth pushed herself out of her chair. She'd deal with the two new men, let Beckett, Sheppard and Ronon get a read on them first, see them for herself – but until then, she had a city to command, people to supervise, orders to give.   
  
She'd give Sheppard and co. a few hours before dealing with it herself.

. . .

  
Sheppard thought the shorter of the two was in charge. Apparently, he was the older brother, acted like it too, speaking for the two of them easily without checking in with the younger one first. Sam – the younger one, apparently, despite being huge – sometimes showed displeasure at it, but, just to further cement Sheppard's suspicions, never called out his older brother on it.   
  
He could tell Carson thought differently. The Scottish man at first looked like he agreed with Sheppard, deferring more to Dean and putting a large amount of his attention into gleaning information from him. But somewhere along the line, probably around where all the scars and wounds on the younger brother showed up and the two explained a more then plausible excuse if Sheppard wasn't military and Ronon wasn't just damn scary, Carson started looking confused. He hid it well, really well, but the people on Atlantis had been around each other long enough to pick up on small things, and Carson was paying more attention to both brothers now, asking them equal question, turning his full attention on whichever was talking.   
  
Sheppard didn't blame him. For brothers, the two guys acted more like life-long best friends then anything else. In John's experience, siblings usually hated each other and would right now be gripping about how it was most definitely the other's fault, or something like that. But these guys seemed almost... Calm? Dean looked downright amused, like he was finding this all a huge joke, face much more healthy then the chalky pale it'd been after they'd landed. Sam was more the prodigal son, painstakingly polite, honestly interested about everything Carson had to say (included all the medical babble that must have flown over all of their heads), but sharp and shrewd enough to carefully read through the non-disclosure papers and everything else all newcomers were forced to do. Usually before they came anywhere near a Stargate.   
  
And that's where the admittedly confusing part came. Ronon was part of this, of course.   
  
When Beckett had first brought out the papers, he'd faltered for a second on which of the brothers to give it too – Sheppard was _sure_ here that Dean would take it without a second thought, instinctively taking the role of leader. But Dean  _hadn't_ . As if there wasn't even any question about it, Sam had stretched his long arms and taken the papers with a smile – neither brothers even looking at each other – and while he read through them carefully, Dean had continued on the conversation with Beckett without a single glance at his little brother. Sam had gestured for a pen after a long moment of silence on his part, and Carson had looked at Dean first then given the pen to Sam.   
  
"You do not wish to read the papers?” Ronon asked, eyes boring into Dean.   
  
The older Singer boy (and with that grin and green twinkling eyes, Sheppard couldn't really think of him as anything  _but_  a boy) just flashed his teeth and seemed to find it funny. “Naah,” he said indifferently. “Sammy here's good with all the legal crap. Should be too, what with wanting to be a big, bad, lawyer.”   
  
That was possibly the most information they'd gotten throughout this whole thing. Sheppard didn't really believe anything else – especially the nature of Sam's body. Carson perked up at the information though, and Sheppard just knew he'd gotten an idea on how to glean off more information. “Yeah?” The doctor asked. “What university did you go too, Sam?”   
  
Looking rather uncomfortable, Sam clicked the pen so the ballpoint was hidden. “Uh, I went to Stanford. Only did pre-law, though.”   
  
Mentally cheering, Sheppard outwardly whistled in awe. They could search for a Sam Singer at the university and see from there just who these two guys really were. Preferably with an image too, just in case Sam really did go to Stanford but under a different name, his  _real_ name. “You must be a mini genius to get into Stanford.” He answered instead, turning to Ronon. “It's like, one of the highest, most difficult to enter University's in the whole of America.”   
  
Dean nodded his head, looking proud like it was his kid they were talking about. “Sammy here got a  _full scholarship_ . Was going to get another full scholarship to law school too before he decided to ditch.”   
  
“Dean,” Sam immediately responded, face twisting into anger. “I didn't  _ditch_ . It just wasn't for me, man. I've told you a thousand times, sooner or later I would've decided that anyway. Just so happened to be sooner.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but at the end bit his tongue and held it, and Sheppard got the distinct feeling it was an argument the two had more then once.   
  
Understandable. Sheppard would've been pissed if his own little brother had passed  _that_ up. He'd have killed Dave.   
  
“And what about you, Dean?” Carson said, smoothly interjecting himself into the conversation again, all polite smiles and innocent face that didn't hold an ounce of manipulation. Seemed like the Scotsman was spending too much time with Rodney, lately. “What did you study?”   
  
Dean snorted. Sam looked even more displeased by the question, shooting a  _look_ at his brother. Said brother merely waved his hand in the air, batting away the question. “Never been good with studying. I'm all about my hands. Give me a broken car or a single lady over a classroom any day.”   
  
“You are... Good with broken things?” Ronon asked again, honestly sounding curious. When Dean simply nodded, Ronon seemed pleased. “Then you can help with the Jumpers. Rather then fly them, you can help in fixing them.” Looking over to Sheppard, he added. “We need more engineers then pilots.”   
  
Carson seemed to agree, then shared a very,  _very_ , sneaky glance with the Runner. “And I believe as well as that, both of you may find a position as friends among the marines.”   
  
The younger Singer adopted a pleasantry surprised and innocently confused expression – almost rivalled with Carson's own. The older scrunched his eyebrows together and frowned in confusion at the doctor. Both were very,  _very_ , good with their expressions, Sheppard would give them that. But the hard angled, well defined body underneath both of their clothes was a dead give away, along with how they walked, held themselves (even if Sam was a bit confusing with the way the large man hunched in on himself and could look like a kicked puppy) and the easy camaraderie they had when answering all of Carson's questions, like they'd done it thousands of times, like they'd had reasons to be asked such questions thousands of times.   
  
The marine angle was just a shot in the dark, though. A shot that turned out to be bullseye.   
  
“Come on, boys.” Sheppard grinned, cocking an eyebrow at how Dean scowled at the term. “It's a dead give away. So where did you guys serve?”   
  
And then, the confusing dynamic between the two played up. Sam shifted in his seat, Dean just scowled harder at being called a boy, Sam sighed and his shoulders drooped, and Dean turned an incredulous face to his brother, like if they'd been having a conversation throughout the whole thing and Sam had just said something completely stupid. But Sam completely ignored him (and that just showed Dean wasn't completely the head honcho) and gave a rueful grin to the audience watching them.   
  
“We never served.” He answered, dimples flashing in his cheeks. “But our dad did, in Vietnam, and he kinda figured he wasn't going to raise wimps for sons and taught us everything he knew.” And sheesh, that would completely explain just how much muscle the huge guy was packing.   
  
“Much good  _that_ did,” Dean groused in return, falling into the story with far too much expert ease. “You used every physical thing he taught you and completely disregarded the lectures and rules and everything he freakin'  _said_ .”   
  
Sam didn't seem to pleased at that, and shot a death glare at his brother, shrugging at Sheppard and co. “You're right though. If you think Dean being with the engineers and me with the marines is for the best, then yeah, sure. You're the boss.”   
  
Older brother genuinely didn't look pleased at that. “I don't know a thing about planes, I  _hate_ planes, why would I go anywhere  _near_ them? I want to be a marine. Let me be a marine.” Sam rolled his eyes, and Dean seemed to take great offence to that. “What, don't think I can be a good marine? Man, I'd be an awesome one, I'd like... Shoot up the ranks so quick it'd make you dizzy, lawyer boy.”   
  
Another eye roll. “No offence, Dean. But you following orders? Have you forgotten just how horrible you are with any type of authority? You, like, break out in hives or something whenever you even see one. Only authority you could follow was dad's-- No man, I don't mean it like that, it's just true though. Remember when Bobby suggested maybe  _not_ finding Cas? You didn't listen, just drove off and forced him to come with you just so you wouldn't get your ass killed. And man, let's not even talk about whenever  _I_ say something.”   
  
“What?” Came the indignant reply. “I always listen to you! I just don't always  _agree_ with what you say. I take your suggestion into account, think about it carefully, then at the end decide whether it's good or not. And I so  _do_ listen to Bobby. Turned out Cas wasn't going to kill me, didn't it? I did the same thing, thought it out, then came to a decision. Jesus, you know what? Forget it. One minute I'm the perfect little soldier and the next I'm a freakin' rebel.”   
  
The last sentence didn't make much sense when the whole conversation was taken into account, but Sheppard was completely interested in the way Sam reacted to it with an almost wince. But neither showed any sign of the argument being anything more then what it sounded, nor did they let things fall into an awkward lull. Dean especially seemed keen to return to the whole point of the conversation.   
  
“So we've signed the papers,” he said, not even bothering to hide his topic change. “And we know we're on Atlantis, in space, where humans are fighting some other existence in spaceships and Atlantis is like... Alive. You guys want to put us in a group, right? We'll both go with the marines. Give a pretty face to all that muscle.”   
  
Snorting at the thought, Sheppard couldn't help but want to see Lorne's reaction to having these two under his jurisdiction. Before that though, he'd have to speak with Weir who'd no doubt be waiting on his report about the two men – that, and to debrief him too. “Sure, I'll speak to the commander.” He replied amiably, not completely confirming it but not rejecting it too. “So they good to go, Carson?”   
  
“Aye.” The doctor said, ticking off a few more things on his clipboard. “Perfect condition. Go introduce them to the commander.”   
  
Permission granted, he hopped off his seat, careful not to jostle his shoulder too much, and waved at the Singer's to follow him. “Come on, boys. I'll tell you the whole story while we walk.”

. . .

  
  
Elizabeth wasn't as hospitable to the idea as the rest were. “No.”   
  
Sheppard opened his mouth to speak, but was shot down by a glare.   
  
“No.” The civilian head of Atlantis said. “We have more puddlejumpers then pilots, we  _need_ more men to be able to fly them.” A finger jabbed in Dean's direction. “And  _you_ , for one, can fly them.”   
  
The shorter Singer folded his arms across his chest. “I'm not a pilot, I can't fly for shit. I'll kill myself  _and_ make you lose one of those hunk of metals.” Strangely enough, his words sounded more like an oath rather then an excuse – Sheppard wondered whether his hatred for flying was bad enough to choose death over. The solemn way the taller Singer nodded in agreement said it was.   
  
But Elizabeth didn't seemed bothered by it at all. “You will learn. Ronon, please make sure he does. As for you, Sam, Sheppard will be an adequate teacher. Considering the both of you are staying, you'll be expected to earn your keep in anyway I deem fit. With that said, both of you will take an efficiency test and any further duties will be applied from there.” She picked up a pad, ignoring the eye Dean was giving Ronon, and tapped at her screen a bit before seeming satisfied. Turning the device over for them to see, she pointed at two highlighted rooms in separate wings, tapping at them with a pen to show them the separate wings. “These are your quarters, here and here.”   
  
“Oh hell no.”   
  
Taken by surprise, Elizabeth blinked, echoing the last word. “No...?” She was used to Sheppard or Rodney challenging her authority, what with both of them usually having a good enough excuse to do so, but two random strangers that had only just been told the full situation they were in? She'd been doing them a favour when she put them in separate wings – usually, brothers would give anything to be completely away from each other. At least, that's what she thought.   
  
“Just give us one room, two beds, and we're good to go, sweetheart.” The one that'd spoken said, drawling the words at her.   
  
Even more shocked by the attitude, her eyebrows went sky high as she turned to look at an equally surprised Sheppard and Ronon, just to see if what she was hearing was real. The younger of the brothers – Sam – grew red with embarrassment, did something Elizabeth must have missed because only a second later Dean yelped in pain and glared up at his brother.   
  
“I'm sorry, ma'am.” The taller man said, ignoring Dean. “It's just, we're so used to always being in view of each other that being in different rooms in an unfamiliar place in  _space_ with unfamiliar places...” He trailed off, leaving the  _'we don't trust you'_  unspoken.   
  
What were they, twins? Now Elizabeth  _really_ wanted to get rid of them and debrief Sheppard, Ronon and Beckett on the two. They wanted the same room? It wouldn't cause her much trouble, would even be better in the off chance case the rest of the rooms were needed, but there was more here to it then simple just what would be easier to comply with. The two needed to know she was in charge, that while they were under her jurisdiction, they had to follow her orders  _to the letter_ , and she needed to know that they could do so, that they wouldn't endanger her people by deciding to question or outright refuse her when it was essential to obey. But the older brother looked resolute, jaw locked, staring her down with the same expression she saw on people that were going to do it their way whether you wanted them to or not, and the younger brother looked apologetic, earnest, but dead set on it too.   
  
Elizabeth wasn't stupid. She knew what made a leader was to take into account the demands and doubts of her people and work it into what was beneficial for all.   
  
Bringing the pad back to her view, she typed at it, bringing the two rooms decidedly closer on a different wing. Turning it back around, she pointed at the new locations. “Unfortunately, we have a policy of one room to one person. These two rooms are adjacent, so feel free to use them however you wish.”   
  
Sam relaxed immediately, smiling in gratitude to the point dimples became visible in his cheeks. For a minute, she was surprised at how much younger he looked, the lines she'd noticed when he'd first entered and listened to everything she and Sheppard told them smoothing out until they looked like they never existed. But the older brother, Dean, continued to eye her seriously, green eyes sharp and clear, studying her. He must have found whatever he was searching for, because he gave a decided nod and tilted his head in thanks while Sam verbalised it.   
  
Wondering if she'd made the right choice, Elizabeth nodded in acknowledgement, then leaned back in her chair. “If that is all, Sheppard and Ronon will show you to your rooms. Feel free to get to know the layout of Atlantis, especially the location of the mess hall which is open twenty four seven. Tomorrow, you'll take your efficiency test to see where you're both would be of most use. Until then, make yourselves comfortable.” With a last look to see if they'd processed her words, she she turned her attention back to her work. “Dismissed.”


	3. I Didn't Train To Be A Pilot (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Gabriel has the perfect idea to put the apocalypse on full stop. Really, it's absolutely brilliant. And with a click of his fingers, the idea is set to roll. And no, he won't take Dean and Sam's ungratefulness to heart – he's used to it by now. AKA that time Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean and Sam ended up in different puddlejumpers far away in a galaxy unknown. Being shot at. By the Wraith. (Plus, for some unknown, innate, reason - everyone mentally insults Dean.) 

“Whatever, Sam. I'm sure it'll be a few questions, a poke here 'n a poke there, nothing else.” Dean said, taking another bite out of his sandwich. “Oh god, dude, this egg 'n Mayo sandwich is _heavenly_.”

His little brother ignored him, moving onwards with a purposeful gait that really pissed Dean off. The long strides the six foot four was taking would've been impossible for anybody of average height to follow, but for Dean it was just annoying, and totally not cool when he was trying to appreciate good food. But Sam had this all _'I'm on a mission'_ look about him, all geared up and ready to pass the damn placement test with flying aces – something about “being of any help possible because we can't be a burden to these good people, Dean” - and get well on his way to being a productive member of the team.

Dean wanted to gag a little.

Behind the two 'Singers', the coloured man in dreadlocks was stalking them, following their movement with the sort of grace Castiel did, all fluid but deadly like a large cat. He figured the guy wouldn't appreciate being compared to a cat, he seemed more of a wolf person. But more then that, the guy was trained, that much was way too easy to see, and more then that, the guy was armed. Hell, it was the only reason why Dean wasn't needling Sam to get them to lose this guys tail – because that gun? Dear God Not In Heaven (Sam and Cas would glare at him for that), that gun was so freaking awesome it should be in video games only. He didn't have a clue how it actually worked – that's how cool it was – but he was damn sure it would be a helluva lot more effective against anything he wanted to shoot then his own guns were. So if he was surreptitiously trying to look back and ogle it, sue him. Sam was just too much of a girl to appreciate the finer machinery in life. Damn kid douched up his _Impala_. With an _iPod dock_. His _Impala_.

Dreadlocks interrupted his train of thought (and good thing too, he was just starting to feel pissed at Sam all over again for what he did to his baby) made a gesture for them to turn left. Without even pausing in his seriously too long steps, Sam veered off without even blinking, Dean lagging behind by a step or two, trailing along besides them with Dreadlocks dude at his back. As they did, the Colonel guy with the injured shoulder came up besides them, just as Dean chomped off another bite of his totally awesome sandwich, making a noise of pleasure at the taste that had the Colonel do a double take at him. Guy was probably jealous he didn't have a sandwich.

The hallway they turned into was one of the larger ones then the ones usually found in Atlantis. The long stretch ahead of them was already filled with a bit too many people to make it look innocent, all milling around expectantly as a tanned woman herded them to line the sides as to make space. Right in the middle was a strew of objects, something Dean really hoped wasn't true because he'd have to shoot whoever came up with it. When the three of them finally came up to it, the obstacle course looked just like an obstacle course – just like all the other damn obstacle courses John forced them into for training.

“This is stupid.” Was the first thing he said, staring at the course with disgust. “What are we, five?”

The woman stayed neutrally blank, and damn if she wasn't good looking, but the damn obstacle course had killed any joy he'd have felt flirting with her. Plus... She had the same thing going for her like Dreadlocks – and the last thing Dean wanted was to get blasted by that cool gun for hitting on the guy's woman. To his right, Sam took one look at the course and promptly folded in half, touching his toes with his fingers and stretching. Dean stared at his brother, shock rendering him speechless as Sam continued to fold himself left and right, working out kinks and stretching muscles. It looked so _douche-y_ , so... So... He couldn't even think of a good enough word! And even worse, the kid was doing it for _this_? They could do this in their sleep! They _had_ done this in their sleep – John liked to change things up and spring the course on them at the most unlikeliest of times, particularly favouring 3 AM, in the middle of winter, in some overgrown forest, far away from civilization. With nothing but a water bottle to share between them and the orders to be finished in five hours.

“Oh come on, Dean.” The traitor was saying, pulling an arm sideways till a crack almost made Dean flinch. “I know you've been having problems with your knees, lately. It's cool if you don't wanna do it. You're not exactly getting younger.”

Horrified at the idea, Dean slowly turned to face his brother, staring down as Sam bent again to do God knew what (although, God probably didn't know – hah! Where are you now, Cas?). So what if he felt a slight twinge in his knees every now and then? Man comes back from Hell and he's expected to be crawling around without repercussions? Dude, that was totally not cool, you know? “You're forgetting I can always beat you, Samantha.” He groused, feeling a small drop of satisfaction at the surprised snort it got from a few people.

Sam gave him a Bitch Face, but it went away too quick to be anything but suspicious. “Sure, Dean. 'Course you can. But it's totally alright to just sit this one out, man. I'm sure the next tests will be less... Active.”

“The hell?” Dean replied indignantly, looking back at the obstacle course with disbelief. “This? You call this,” a sweep of his hand to encompass the course. “Active? Dude, what the hell? I could take you on in this shitty test _and_ beat your ass. Like I always do.”

An evil twist of lips trying to pass off as a grin answered him, and Dean did _not_ give Sam the satisfaction of showing how pissed he was at his little brother's manipulation. “Dude, not cool. I'm going to wipe the floor with your ass.” He groused. “Now stop with the pansy ass stretching. What the hell's up with that anyway? You been watching the early morning Yoga show or something?”

Another Bitch Face – equally too short to be of any effect, probably because the damn girl was happy at getting his way. Grumbling under his breath, Dean took a few steps forward to stand in line with Sam right at the start of the obstacle race, the tanned woman standing at their side with a stop watch and Sheppard next to her holding on to the clipboard she'd thrust at him.

“As soon as I say go, you both must go through the obstacle race, run to the end and tag the two people waiting for you, and come back by the same route as you took to the same position you are in now.” The woman said, speaking clearly and a bit too loudly to be just for them. Obviously, Dean and Sam had an audience to entertain. “Whoever reaches back to this point wins–“ A cough. “–Shall move on to the next test and be followed by the other.” Oh yeah, Dean thought distractedly, definitely an audience. When the woman was certain everybody understood and nobody was going to object, she gave a decisive nod, and simply said “Go.”

Dean shot forward, Sam right next to him, dimly hearing Sheppard lecturing the woman for doing it wrong. Sam's long legs ate up the small space towards the first part of the obstacle, pulling in front of him like he always did ever since hitting his last growth spurt, but Dean didn't let it bother him, because he'd been expecting it anyway. The first obstacles came upon them soon enough, hurdles, and Dean watched pleased as Sam realised with a start the spaces between the hurdles was too small for him to actually get his footing after jumping.

While the Sasquatch had to slow down just a bit so to figure out a way to clear them, Dean ran straight ahead, jumping over the first, the second, the third, jumping over all of them with relative ease born from a lifetime of clearing high fences with Feds on their ass. But he didn't slow down a bit, dropping to the floor and crawling underneath a net held up by four wooden poles. Sam was only a few seconds behind him, eating up the space as quickly as the drag race at the start, but Dean had the advantage of more space to move in and use his elbows to pull himself forwards while Sam was squeezed up due to his large frame. As soon as Dean saw the opening, he used his hands to push himself forwards, clearing the top half of his body, then practically lunged outwards in a pounce and rolled until he was standing, running straight out immediately. Sam's footsteps were right besides him, and damn if the little girl wasn't trying hard to beat him – this was serious, Sam was trying to win, probably so he could force Dean to help find him a library or something, the geek – but Dean wasn't exactly going to let him, for pride and braggers right.

Two long benches were in front of them, with enough space between them so if one of them fell, they wouldn't hit their head on the other. He absolutely hated benches, or any thin surface he'd have to balance on, they reminded him too much of cute chicks on Olympic teams or something doing fancy twirls and suicidal moves on the thing. But he dutifully hopped onto it, cursing as the bench surprised him by wobbling wildly, threatening to give out. Sam had already jumped off it by the time he followed suit, and the only thing left was to tag the two people with their hands out, waiting for them at the end of the stretch of hallway. The first of them to reach the two guys and slap a hand was Sam, and Dean felt murderous when his little brother turned around to go back at the obstacle course with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Slapping the offered hand a bit too hard, Dean spun around and ran after Sam's girly hair, jumping on top of the bench again and just jumping right off it without finesse, pumping his legs harder until he reached the net close to the ground and dropped down until he could crawl. He came out of it with a gasp, arms beginning to burn slightly as both brothers really got serious, Sam's arms going around wildly as he tried taking the hurdles two at a time, knowing Dean would catch up on them.

Cleared of the hurdles, the last stretch of hallway was the only remaining task. They were neck to neck by now, Sam starting to pull away from him thanks to his long leg, but just as the finish line came into view, Dean blatantly stuck a foot in between his brothers feet, not even stopping as Sam tripped over it and stumbled in shock, crashing to the floor in an awkward sprawl. Dean passed the finish line laughing, dropping to the floor himself as he tried getting air in, too busy gasping in mirth as Sam untangled himself from the floor. His little brother paced in anger towards him, bristling in rage as Dean calmed down. Amused as hell, Dean grinned up at him.

“Aliens aren't going to just run alongside you, Sammy.” He drawled in a disappointed voice. “You should always expect the unexpectable.”

Ever the little bitch, Sam Bitch Faced at him. “Unexpectable isn't a word, jerk.”

"Bitch."

. . .

  
There was far too much commotion in one of the unused rooms, Rodney thought, following the noise only a group of people could make. If he found those no good imbeciles wasting time _chatting_ , he'd force them to take the graveyard shift, _along_ with their usual schedule. Pleased with the thought, the Canadian entered the room to find, just as he thought, a small group of people wasting valuable time _loitering_. To his surprise, he found Teyla, Sheppard and Ronon in the mix too, the former and the latter with their usual expression of professional blankness, but Sheppard looking like he was watching something very entertaining.

Curious, he pushed his way until he was standing next to the three, noticing then two males he didn't recognise sitting on the only two chairs in the room. He stared at them, noticing the casual clothing they wore, and realised with a start they must be the two newcomers Carson had been telling him about. That meant the two were doing the efficiency test, and from the papers Teyla had in her hand, this was the intelligence proportion of it.

Carson had told him Rodney might find someone of worth in the two – apparently, the younger brother was a Stanford student, on full scholarship too, headed to an equally full scholarship Law School until 'life happened'. Rodney didn't know what 'life' 'happened', he couldn't fathom anything being of a high enough impact to turn down a full ride to _Stanford Law School_ , and if anything that proved the younger brother was an idiot blessed with an intelligence he didn't deserve.

Plus he was blonde. With girly green eyes. If anything, the older brother (and if his calculations were correct, the guy was around _Ronon's_ height) looked more like an intellect then the dumb blonde next to him. Green Eyes even spoke like he didn't have full control of his facilities, drawling out words like those accursed people from the country! Nobody with a blonde act like that could be _clever_ , nobody with a blonde act could even be of an average intelligence to pass high school with anything but a barely average score. All the guy had going on for him was his ridiculously pretty face, and the snarky attitude.

Irritated at having been wronged once more by the powers that be, Rodney watched as Teyla gave the two a stack of papers each. Some dumb marine (and Rodney had yet to be proven otherwise!) gave the two pens, the older, far too tall, brother immediately clicked his and started perusing the papers with a quiet intensity the scientist approved off. Dumb But Pretty? He just twirled the pen between his fingers and flicked through the papers with a bored look.

“Dean.”

Pretty With Ridiculous Lips didn't answer, turning the page again with a flourished flick. The older brother repeated himself, glaring at the one named Dean. “What are you doing?”

Eyelashes Far Too Scientifically Long For The Male Gender scoffed. “Nothing.”

“Exactly.” The taller brother shot back immediately. “Answer the questions. It's all easy.”

Another scoff. “Sure, maybe for you, Lawyer Boy.”

Rodney frowned at the title, confused as to why the hopeful Law student would be calling his big brother that. Shouldn't he be the lawyer-wannabe? Maybe the blonde bimbo wasn't the younger of the two? The taller man looked a lot more like a possible intellect, anyway. As it was, said taller man was looking murderous, and surprised all the watching eyes by grabbing Dean's papers and flipping through them himself, then throwing them back roughly at Dean. “They're exactly the same questions as mine. _You_ taught me all this when I was in _fifth grade_.”

That – what? That's impossible, Rodney thought to himself, some of the questions in that paper Rodney had put in himself, just in case the person taking them was someone that'd actually be of use to him. There was even Latin in there, for god's sake! Not because he chose it, of course, but because the researchers of Atlantis always whined about needing someone with a proficiency for dead languages, taking valuable hands away from Rodney's much more necessary cause to keep them all alive and well and wasting it on languages that barely mattered.

The shorter male (maybe the Stanford student? Maybe not?) frowned to himself, looking through the papers more carefully, then made a thoughtful noise. “Damn, I was hoping you'd forgot that. Come on, man, only reason why I did that was because we kept moving too much for you to actually learn anything.”

The older (younger?) Lawyer-hopeful only grew more angry at the reply. “No, Dean.” He growled. “No. You checked my homework all the way till I was in tenth grade. You would've kept checking it too if I didn't stop asking. Now answer the damn questions.” A pause. “All of them.” Another pause. “With the right answers.”

Dean scowled at the taller male, and the dynamic between the two was really starting to confuse Rodney, who couldn't, for the life of him, figure out who was actually supposed to be the younger brother. By the comment about checking homework, it seemed like shorter was the older, and the Stanford-student was actually taller. Either way, Dean finally turned to his papers with a glower, staring at it in a way Rodney was certain may actually have the potential to produce combustion, then finally started answering the questions with a scribble of his pen.

By the time they were finished, Lawyer-potential was looking completely pleased with himself, checking Dean's papers with a blatant appraisal before handing both of them to Teyla, who took them without a word. Mind working a mile a minute, Rodney stared at the papers as everybody filtered out of the room, the two newcomers being led to target practice, where no doubt the third part of the test would take place. He wanted those papers, wanted to get his hands on them just to prove the two newcomers wrong – that the questions _weren't_ easy because they got it _all_ wrong – but before that, he'd have to find a way to get it from Teyla.

That would not be easy.

. . .

  
Elizabeth came just in time to see Dean and Sam pick up the guns, dismantle them, check the magazine, reassemble them, click them in place, and take aim. Apparently, both had begged off the policy earmuffs and the eye wear, Elizabeth was about to start reaming into Teyla when the two began shooting. Now she knew a thing or two about guns, about how to stand and take aim and fire, and most importantly to watch out for the recoil – and with it, she could easily tell that the two men were naturals, mowing down the targets quickly and efficiently. When said targets were brought forward, it showed all the shots being on target – one bullet to the head, one to the heart (and one of Dean's targets had a hole in a place that caused most men to flinch).

Sure, she was impressed – always good to know someone under her jurisdiction could take care of themselves – but mostly she was just worried (panicking) about where, or why, the two men had learnt to shoot as such.

. . .

  
“It's just to see which ones light up whenever we're close, Dean.” Sam was saying, rolling his eyes as Dean dragged his feet. “Apparently, they're like the city and choose who they like and not.” He wasn't too surprised to see Dean didn't look reassured in the least, but so far, Dean wasn't running away in the opposite direction of the Jumper Bay, so Sam counted it as a win. The last portion of the efficiency test was seeing which of the puddlejumpers would react to them, which would be best for them after they both received the gene therapy. Sam didn't really have a problem with it, in fact, he was actually excited about it if he had to be honest, but Dean really didn't have a good track record with things that flew – be them planes, spaceships, or even angels – so Sam couldn't really blame his brother.

As soon as they entered the holding bay, it turned out one of the other doctors was in charge. With wire rimmed glasses and blow away hair that looked a bit too much like that of a mad scientist, the self introduced Dr. Zelenka first held Dean back, and told Sam to go right on in. So he did, and on cue, Jumper 8 immediately lit up like a Christmas tree, a beacon of light egging him to come closer, despite the rest of the puddlejumpers not reacting in the least.

"Right.” Dr. Zelenka was saying. “Out. Come out. Now you, go in.”

Sam left the bay, watching as Jumper eight turned off, and gave a deer-in-headlights Dean a small shove to move him along. When Dean entered the bay, number 1 respectively lit up, but surprised them further by beginning to hover slightly.

"Ty vole!” The Dr. let loose, startling Sam. “Do prdele! Think off, think off, you'll destroy our Jumper!”

“What hell is _think off_!?” Dean shouted back, throwing his hands in the air in frustration. “The hell do you even _mean_ by that?”

Sam couldn't help it, he tried smothering the snort of laughter that threatened to escape him, watching as the doctor with the glasses continued screaming “ _oofffffff”_ while Jumper number three slowly started to light up too. To his greatest amusement, Dean screamed back _“I don't understand!”_ looking frustrated beyond belief, but finally, finally, the two lit Jumper's turned off, number one landing with a small thud while number 3 dimmed down until it was completely off.

Dean didn't even wait to make sure it worked, storming out of the bay and past Sam, who quickly asked to see whether they were finished or not. As soon as he got the all clear, Sam hurried on after Dean, falling into line but having to walk faster as Dean almost ran in his haste to get away.

“Dude,” Sam began curiously. “How'd you think off?”

Dean rummaged through his pockets, bringing out the keys to the Impala that Gabriel must've clicked along with them, the keys jingling musically as they walked. “Imagined turning the key in the ignition off.”

Amused, Sam grinned. Then grinned harder as he realised Dean was heading to the mess.


	4. Be My Wingman Anytime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   Gabriel has the perfect idea to put the apocalypse on full stop. Really, it's absolutely brilliant. And with a click of his fingers, the idea is set to roll. And no, he won't take Dean and Sam's ungratefulness to heart – he's used to it by now. AKA that time Gabriel clicked his fingers and Dean and Sam ended up in different puddlejumpers far away in a galaxy unknown. Being shot at. By the Wraith. (Plus, for some unknown, innate, reason - everyone mentally insults Dean.)

In the blur of the next few days, John Sheppard barely even spared a thought for Dean and Sam Singer. He'd had to make trips from Atlantis to the Daedalusand then from there to  _the Hammond_ and back again, running interference between all three locations, aiding and abetting with missions as well as trying to keep everything under lock and key. He'd just come back from the _Daedalus_ , just climbed through the Stargate and out into Atlantis when he noticed a humongous figure walking off in the opposite direction. The brown locks of hair looked familiar, the broad shoulder and height belonged to only one person he knew, and Sheppard once more couldn't help but ogle at just how big Sam Singer  _was_.

"If you tell me you did  _not_ get me at least  _one more_ scientist with even an  _iota_ worth of intelligence, I will bring unspeakable pain and terror upon you, Sheppard.”

Ah. Rodney. Such a great welcoming.

"No, Rodney.” He answered simply, eyes still on the easily visible head of Sam Singer. “I'll talk to you later.”

With that, he walked past Rodney, who seemed very insulted by his brush off, and jogged until he could catch up to the younger brother. By the time he caught up, he recognised the uniform Sam was wearing to label him as a Scientist – which really begged to differ why Rodney was still wailing about wanting more people.

"Yeah, but I get rotated around with the other groups now and then two.” Sam answered when Sheppard asked, smiling politely. Dimly, Sheppard could remember reading somewhere that the greatest serial killers were the good looking ones with the innocent smiles. “Dean has to split his time between the mechanics and engineers – fixing stuff and making sure stuff is fixed. He isn't making many friends with the marines.” Suspiciously, the last was said with a strange amount of happiness.

"You seem... Happy... About that, Singer.” He asked slowly, watching as Sam shrugged in reply. The six foot four (five? Maybe six?) replied with something vague about gaining something out of it. Maybe a bet with the others? The people of Atlantis  _really_ liked to make bets for things, especially chocolate and coffee. But why would Dean and the marines not liking each other be of importance? “So, uh, where is he anyway? Your brother?”

Sam shrugged. “We don't really see much of each other except in passing, or when we're in our room. Usually, Dean would check up on me at least every three hours, but he's sicked Atlantis on me. She reports back to him about  _everything_ I do. And feel.” Sam didn't seem too pleased about that. Before Sheppard could make a comment on it (and since when did Atlantis have a new favourite?), a commotion happening in the 302 bay caught his attention. Next to him, Sam turns out to have noticed too, and with a shared look, the two move towards the bay to see what the fuss is all about.

There's a circle of people, all with their guns out, aimed at a man with hair similar to Sam but honey coloured,  _way_ shorter in height and wearing bloodied casual clothes but grinning to himself as he bit into a red candy cane. The stranger was standing next to a 302, leaning on it without a care in the world – except to someone like Sheppard, it was obvious he was favouring that side, probably due to a few broken ribs. Sam, being the tall man that he is, can probably see a whole lot more then Sheppard can, but Sheppard's watching Sam's face, and he can see the look of recognition and surprise light up on the younger man's face.

Pushing themselves forward through the crowd, they were surprised to see Rodney waving his arms madly at the man and shouting at the top of his lungs.

"-think you are, appearing out of nowhere while I'm  _attempting_ to test a new theory that could help us  _not_ get eaten by the Wraith!”

The stranger shrugged, biting into his candy again and looking around. His eyes landed on something too far for John to see, but whatever it was, the amber eyes lighted up and the face broke out into a wider grin. “Deano!” The stranger shouted, waving one of his hands wildly in the direction. “ _Deeeaaaannnn_!”

A crash, a curse, and a few moments later the very named man came running as if hell hounds were on his ass, coming to a stop right before the stranger, holding tightly onto a wrench in his hands. “Gabriel...” Dean said slowly, raising the tool high. He faltered though, probably spotted the blood, and lowered what could have been a weapon. “Dude, what the hell happened to you?”

The named Gabriel looked around again instead, standing on his tiptoes until he spotted Sam. “Sammy boy! Come here, come here. Aren't you going to say hi to your favourite angel?”

Angel? John watched, curious but also seriously worried if Atlantis was being compromised by the constant flow of strangers, his own gun out and pointed at the man as Sam pushed through the last stragglers and went to stand next to his brother, looming over the two. “Seriously, Gabriel, are you OK?”

"Aaaw,” the shortest of the three cooed. “Are the Winchester's worried about wittle old me? Naah, don't worry about it.” He waved their concern off, biting again into his candy. “Lucy was really sad he couldn't say hi, though.”

Dean winced, shifting his weight onto another foot, while Sam looked like he accidentally stepped on his own fish. “Gabe--”

The stranger snorted at their expressions, interrupting the younger brother, waving his hand dismissively again. “Come on, boys, don't act so surprised. You wanted me to fight him anyway, right? Yeah well, I would've died. Now? I'm just a little banged up, but nothing a few hours on a bed with Magic Fingers won't fix. Turns out, my bright idea of keeping you boys away until Lucy's time ran out wasn't so welcomed.” He snorted again, looking fondly reminiscent. “I haven't had my ass kicked so bad since I was three.”

"Three?” Dean said slowly. “Centuries or...?”

Another snort, followed with the loud snap of another piece of candy being broken. John was completely lost in the meaning of the conversation. “Dude, I lost count before you guys were even made. Anyway, the only chance you boys got of stopping mean ol' Lucifer is by getting the Four Horsemen's rings.”

Sam looked around awkwardly, seeing Sheppard, Rodney and everybody else listening to them shamelessly. “We should... Go somewhere private.”

The man named Gabriel didn't seem bothered by it, though, snapping at his candy one more time before it finally disappeared into his mouth. “Naaw,” He mumbled, chewing at the sweet. “It's 'kay, they cool. They won't do anything – fixed up their friend Thor with a place.” At the brothers confused looks, Gabriel huffed in amusement. “What? You think gods and stuff just carry on existing even though people don't believe in them anymore? The originals died with the fall of the Vikings and Ragnarok and  _dude_ was that awkward. These new ones are aliens, though. Little... Round headed... Aliens. The others hate them with a passion.”

Sam looked to Dean beseechingly, but the older brother just shrugged and turned back to Gabriel. “By the Horsemen, you don't mean-”

"-War, Famine, Pestilience and Death? Yup. Hey, you've been reading the Bible lately?”

"Great.” Dean finished. “Fine then, come on, let's go. Click your fingers and take us home, Alice.” He paused, looked around as if finally noticing everyone, and frowned. “Dude, do the mind wipe thing too. Y'know, like  _Men in Black_.”

Sam made an irritated face, ignoring at Gabriel's laugh. “We are  _not_ just  _leaving_. Dean, these people need  _help_. What do you mean by Lucifer's time running out, Gabriel?”

"Lucy's out-a the box. Lucy needs to get his true vessel in a certain amount of time before the box pulls him back of it's own accord. It's why he's been pervin' on your dreams. Totally not because he's got the hots for your  _luscious_ hair.”

"So why can't we just stay here until it finishes?” Sam pressed, looking determined. “These guys are fighting  _aliens_. In  _Atlantis_. I've only just gotten halfway through the Ancients logs.”

Gabriel shrugged uncaring. “If you wanna stay here while Lucifer hunts everybody you ever met or saved from a monster, then fine, be my guest. What's a few souls for the greater good, right? Coulda sworn he mentioned going to South Dakota as his first stop, or something.”

Dean gave his brother a pointed look, but Sam still had something else to say. “Fine, OK, we'll go. But you're not just going to  _snap_ your fingers and make us disappear without at least being polite and saying goodbye.” With that, the taller brother turned around to face the watching audience, and his face crumbled into a young boy being forced to say goodbye to his favourite puppy. Dean shuffled around next to his brother awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his head, scowling, before taking the mantle and stepping forward to a watching Ronon (John was surprised to say he'd been too invested in the confusing conversation to notice his buddy).

"Uh, so.” Dean started, eyes going from Ronon to his gun. “Take care of that awesome gun, dude. It looks like one of a kind. You don't have a spare one I could borrow, do ya?” The Runner just raised a single eyebrow at him, Teal'c-style, and held out his hand. Dean took it, the two shaking their hands firmly, as Sam engaged in a conversation with a dangerously curious Rodney. The stranger – called Gabriel, who apparently got his ass beaten by a Lucifer, and let's not mention the whole Apocalypse, Four Horsemen, Bible references and  _angels_ at all – somehow had another candy in his hands, this time something that looked like black liquorice. John watched as Dean gave Teyla a flirtatious wink, the tanned woman smiling back and holding her hand out to shake too, just as Rodney gave a loud “But!” and Sam launched into a whole new tirade of explanation that made little sense to the Colonel.

By the time Dean was in front of him looking incredibly awkward, John had overheard enough of Sam and Rodney's argumentative discussion to know the two brothers  _really_ thought they were leaving, right now, and apparently Earth was in trouble and they were trying to help it. There was much talk of Biblical things, Sam giving an apocalyptic reason for most of the strange events happening on Earth – like that explosion in Maryland (“that's when the devil first broke out”). John raised both eyebrows at Dean, who shrugged and stuck out his hand.

Shaking his head in wonder – and deciding to screw protocol and just play along with obviously deranged non-stable people – John clapped Dean on the shoulders and took his hand. “Anytime you feel like popping in on a Jumper unannounced, feel free.” Dean grinned at him, losing bits of awkwardness at the jab. “I'm serious, kid. You can be my wingman, any time.” Playful indignation settled on the other's face as Sheppard carried on quietly. “Even if you are scared crapless of flying.”

Dean's indignant spluttering was absolutely music to his ears, even as the man named Gabriel burst into guffaws. The latter held up a free hand, poised in the way one would click his fingers, and in the next blink of his eyes, just as a snap of fingers could be heard, John saw no more Sam with a sad smile, no more Dean trying to come up with something clever to say, and no more laughing Gabriel.

They'd really disappeared.

Rodney immediately burst out into how it wasn't theoretically possible, scoffing at the thought of accepting whatever Sam had been telling him. John just blinked again, rubbing at his eyes as he finally put away his Zat, still seeing the space in front of him empty save for the 302 Gabriel had been leaning on, then turned to face Ronon and Teyla. The two seemed to have no problem with what just happened, Zelenka and Beckett – who'd both apparently had been in the background – seemed unable to keep their mouth closed.

"I dinna believe it.” The Scotsman finally breathed out. “I'll be damned.”

Zelenka said something in his native tongue that sounded oddly blasphemous – and John almost wanted to laugh hysterically at the particularly wording his brain came up with, looking back at the empty space.

"Hey, Ronon? Teyla? Do your people believe in angels?” He heard himself ask, still staring at the spot.

"My people believe in an ultimate, greater power, and his warriors.” Teyla answered back.

Ronon just smiled, a quirk of his lips, and looked down at his gun once before resting his eyes on Sheppard. “Does it really matter? You've just witnessed three men disappear with a click of a finger. Is that not proof enough?”

John hoped not, because then he'd have to report a whole lot more then the Singer's (Winchester's?) no longer being around. The apocalypse? Hell, he'd probably be forced to speak to O'Neill.

"Alright guys.” He finally said, raising his voice to be heard. “Everybody, get back to your work. Show's over. We've still got our own problems to deal with, ladies and gentlemen. Get back to your stations.” And John would get back to his.

Right after clicking his own fingers and imagining Dave's apartment. Nope. Still on Atlantis. Yup, now he'd go back to work.

 

**Author's Note:**

> You have the right to remain silent and roll on over to my tumblr, [sheriffbadass](http://sheriffbadass.tumblr.com). You have the right to send asks, and if you're too shy for it, then you shall be appointed the veil of anon to allow you to do so.


End file.
